“Car theft. Reckless driving. Endangering the public.”
“Those are agents of the United States government, on a mission. I suggest you contact the American embassy immediately.”
“We take no orders from you, and have no way to know who you are and if you speak the truth.”
“You will know who I am, once I get there.”
She liked Malone’s moxie. Straight up. Direct. No bullshit. Daniels had said he had a low tolerance level.
But the two policemen did not seem concerned.
They ended the call.
*
Malone slipped the phone back into his pocket and retook the lifeboat’s helm, powering up the engines. What the policeman said worked two ways. He had no way of knowing who he’d been talking to, either.
But he couldn’t deal with that right now.
Fog still engulfed them, the wind and rain continuing, its spray as solid as buckshot. If Luke and Isabella had found trouble, that meant Kim was long gone with the documents. They needed to get gone, too. The lifeboat was stolen property and, by now, the ferry was in port and the police involved. He had no time for any of that. Stephanie could handle the locals later, that was her job. His was to find Kim and those documents. He’d made a miscalculation on the ferry in allowing the North Korean to walk away. Of course, at the time he’d had no idea of their importance or how brazen Kim could be. His only chance now was Howell, who sat motionless on one of the benches.
He kept his eyes out the front windshield, trying to pick a way through the murk, the blunt nose of the lifeboat bucking the sea. “I’m going to need your help.”
“He killed her. Just tossed her out and let her drown.”
No time existed for remorse. “Pay him back.” He added a compelling urgency to his voice that he hoped Howell caught.
“Damn right. I’ll do it. But I got a stake here, too. My freedom was in that satchel.”
“You may not need it.”
“What do you mean?”
THIRTY-NINE
Hana stood in the classroom, silent, as required. From day one all of them had been taught to stand straight, bow to Teacher, and never speak unless asked a direct question. The school building was similar to where she and her mother lived, a plain concrete square with filthy vinyl covering its windows. Teacher stood at a podium with a blackboard behind him. He wore a uniform and carried a pistol holstered on his hip. She did not know his name, but that was unimportant. Obedience was all that mattered. The forty students stood separately, boys on one side, girls the other. She knew only a few of their names. Camp rules discouraged close friendship and alliances were forbidden, as both bred collision.
“You have to wash away the sins of your mothers and fathers,” Teacher said to them. “So work hard.”
Most of every day was spent reminding them of their uselessness.
School had begun at 8:00 A.M. Absences were never allowed. Just last week, she’d helped a sick Sun Hi across the camp. The girl was perhaps Hana’s only friend, though she was unsure of that word’s exact definition. If it meant that she enjoyed being with her, then a friend she was. When Teacher provided them time to remove lice from their hair, she and Sun Hi would clean each other. Between classes, when Teacher allowed them to play “rock, paper, scissors,” they always gathered together. They’d both been born in the camp. Names were allowed for Insiders simply as a means of identification. But identities, personalities, character—those were forbidden. Still, she was drawn to Sun Hi, if for no other reason than just to be with someone her age. Someone not her mother. Simple interaction between two prisoners was not discouraged, as it helped root out rule breaking.
School always began with chonghwa. Harmony. Time when Teacher criticized them for all that they had done wrong the day before. More reminders of their lack of worth. Only this time the sins were not those of their parents, but their own.
She was nine and had slowly learned to read and write. Each year they were issued a single notebook. Pencils were fashioned from a sharpened piece of charred wood. Writing exercises were confined to explaining how she’d failed to work hard. Reading involved a mastery of camp rules. Today Teacher seemed especially angry. His criticisms had been harsh, but no one uttered a sound. If asked anything, the proper response was the same for them all. I shall do better today.
“Be alert,” Teacher yelled at the class.
She knew what was coming. A surprise search.
One by one they approached and Teacher patted them down, then he rifled through their pockets. No one possessed anything that violated the rules except Sun Hi, who carried five rotten kernels of corn.
“You bitch. You stole food?” Teacher said. “We cut the hands off thieves.”
Sun Hi stood trembling, saying nothing, as no question had been asked.
Teacher displayed the blackened kernels in his open palm. “Where did these come from?”
A question. Which must be answered.
“The … field.”
“You dare steal? You worthless excuse of a person. You’re nothing. Yet you think you can steal?”
His words came fast, his voice loud. His right hand had twice reached for the gun at his hip, but he had not, as yet, drawn the weapon. Shooting prisoners was a daily occurrence, though it had never happened inside her school.
“Look at this worthless nothing,” Teacher said to the class. “Spit on her.”
They all did as he ordered, including herself.
“Kneel,” Teacher demanded of Sun Hi.
Her friend dropped to the floor.
Each of them wore the same black pants, shirt, and shoes issued a year ago. Now mere tattered rags covering little skin.
“Repeat for me subsection three of camp rule three,” Teacher said to Sun Hi.
“Anyone who steals … or conceals … any foodstuffs will be … shot immediately.”
“And what have you done?” Teacher asked.
“I have … broken that … rule.”
She heard the fear in Sun Hi’s voice.